#hangster angst

[cowboysandpilots]

Hello!🥰🌸✨💝🌻💐🌸✨💝🌻💐🌸 for fic request; this lyrics for Hangman/Rooster ship, thank you!! :3

(Another hangster song🤭💗)

Jake never planned on falling for Rooster, especially since he was convinced that the man hated him like everyone else did. He was fine with that; really, he was better by himself anyway. He couldn't ignore it, though, that feeling in his chest when Rooster was near. It was like some cosmic joke that he would have feelings for someone he could never have. Jake would never admit it, not until he had to.

The time for Jake to admit his feelings might come too late. He hadn't been picked for the mission, and so he's doing his least favourite thing in the world, sitting on the sidelines. That is, until he hears those words come over the comms, "Dagger two is down," and his heart clenches. The yelling of Rooster's name is stuck in his throat, and the talking of his superiors is blocked out because he's already launching into the air despite everyone's protests.

He can feel his fear all the way down to his bones. The fear that Bradley is dead and he'll never get to see him again. The fear that he'll have to attend yet another military funeral. This one will hurt so much more; he's sure of it. He won't be able to hide his tears under sunglasses for this one, and for a split second, he hates Maverick for making them do this. For picking Bradley instead of him, not out of jealousy, but because if someone was going to die, it should be him. The fear only subsides when he sees that hunk of junk the two men are piloting around in, and Jake's relief and happiness still comes through in his cocky, 'I'm here to save you bit'.

Once they're safely back on the ground, Jake decides to try something new by doing what he's always done. Throwing caution to the wind. Doing without thinking. He jumps out of his plane and watches Bradley do the same, going straight up to him. He can see the way the older man is almost already rolling his eyes, waiting for whatever asshole thing Jake is about to say, but he doesn't because Jake doesn't. Instead, he pulls Bradley in by his flight suit and kisses him hard and desperate.

The crowd around them falls silent, but Jake barely notices because his heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and Bradley is kissing him back. The kiss is filled with all the fear and love that Jake had been trying and failing to hold back. All the feelings that had been weighing on his soul. He feels like a much lighter version of himself as he pulls away, and he makes a promise to himself, and later in private, to Bradley, that he's going to hold on to the other man and never let him go, not even if another plane goes down. Not even if one of them ends up being just a breeze through the other's hair on a cool day. — ✨REQUEST A COMMISSION✨

#hangster #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangster fanfiction #sereshaw #hangman x rooster #hangster angst #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangster fic #hangster ficlet #tgm fanfic #tgm #my writing

[coconutcordiale]

Yay! Congrats on the 1k, babes!! You know I love your writing so I’d love a drabble. How about for the closer prompt? BB x reader or hangster. I love them both. ❤️

hours don't turn into days (pt one)

full fic on ao3

pairing- rooster x hangman

synopsis-

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

or, bradley's struggling post-mission and hangman keeps calling him for some reason

warnings- 18+ explicit sexual content (blow jobs, anal sex, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, orgasm delay), angst, anxiety, bradley bradshaw's bummer of a life

length- 7.7k

an- MONTHS LATER i'm so sorry ash hahahaha

i'm back!!!! school is still kicking my ass so i can't be as active as i used to but i'm baaaack kinda. i've been posting this on ao3 (the chaps are split up nicer on there but i'm lazy so it'll be 2 parts on here) but since i finally got to the point that kicked off this whole fic - the lovely ASH requesting "make me" with hangster i figured i'd post the first few chapters on here as well. linking the fic on ao3 if you'd prefer to read there. fair warning....i've not scratched the surface of the angst that is planned for this one

Me carrying this mess Is tearing me to shreds I’m so far away from what I need From here it’s hard to breathe

hours – again&again

Bradley’s been measuring his life in hours since the moment he added up the first page in his logbook. He still remembers the excitement of penciling in that 11.4 of flight time into the bottom, already feeling as cool as Maverick, already one step closer to flying as close as he could to a mustached blonde guy and his bright Hawaiian shirts.

It took three hours for him and Mav to talk, actually talk, and hash things out, tears falling as they soothed old hurts and cautiously built new promises. Took them half that to even start.

Took one hour before he left his mother’s bedside, to believe she was gone, but Bradley tries his best not to think about that hour.

All that to say, it’s been nearly a thousand hours since Bradley came back to his stale East coast house that’s never really felt like home. A thousand hours since Hangman showed up in Virginia Beach, seeing as the Navy’s favorite way to say thank you for saving the lives of fellow pilots and surviving the un-survivable is to uproot someone's life and toss them across the country with little to no afterthought.

Phoenix got reassigned to Oceana too, but Phoenix’s presence across from him in the dim lighting of Haddy’s Bar isn’t trying to make Bradley lose his mind.

The problem with being near Hangman post mission – in light of the tenuous truce they’ve struck, with the debt Bradley feels like he owes him – is that no matter how many decent interactions he has with the guy, that flighty feeling in his stomach every time he sees him out of the corner of his eyes never seems to go away.

Must be his anxiety.

“Bradshaw.” Phoenix’s voice is sharp, slicing through the haze in his mind. She waves a hand in front of his face, annoyed. “Bradshaw.”

Bradley shakes his head, clears his throat. “Sorry, zoned out. What were you asking?”

She rolls her eyes, albeit mostly fond, he thinks. “You ever gonna bring the Bronco out here? You’ve been stationed here for, what, two years and you’re still keeping your most prized possession in California?”

Bradley blinks. Two years. He didn’t realize it had been that long and opens his mouth to admit it when he glances up, words dying on the tip of his tongue as he catches sight of blonde hair moving across the bar, amidst a group of pilots Bradley recognizes as VFA-37.

He wonders how Hangman feels about trading out the Vigilantes for the Ragin Bulls, wonders if Hangman insists on wearing his khakis because he knows how good he looks in them.

Then kicks himself for wondering.

Hangman grins when he clocks them, sauntering over like the cat he clearly was in a past life. “Bradshaw, as I –”

Phoenix shakes her head in disgust. “Nope. Not this again.”

Hangman mimes zipping his lips. The fact that he actually shuts up is a testament to how much the dynamic has changed since the mission.

Bradley tries, really tries, not to look but he can’t help the way his eyes flick to Hangman’s lips where they’re turned up slightly, a miniature version of his signature smirk. Phoenix’s derision is the only thing keeping him from saying something stupid at this point.

It doesn’t go unnoticed if the glint appearing in the other man’s green eyes is anything to go by.

“Hangman.” He nods, somewhere in the realm of normal, he thinks.

A blonde eyebrow quirks, telling him he wasn’t even close. “Cool shirt, birdie.”

Bradley wants to protest the obvious sarcastic slander of his muted yellow and white shirt, which is frankly pretty tame but can’t be bothered to put any real heat into his tone. “I see you’re still allergic to civvies."

Hangman lets out a chuckle, his face bright and open for a fleeting second before schooling his features back into something more familiar. “How could I not be, when I make khakis look this good?”

Bradley’s gaze leaves Hangman’s face yet again to rake up and down his form, almost involuntarily, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he barrels through his last remaining shred of subtlety.

Hangman looks like he might have some choice teasing about that little display, but his squad is waving at him with extra beers in their hands, trying for the blonde’s attention.

“Sorry to cut and run.” Hangman tilts his head in the direction of the pool table they’ve taken over towards the back. “But I’ve got some fuckin’ new guys to put in their place.”

Bradley decidedly does not stare at his ass as he saunters away. “How is he not the FNG in this squad?”

Phoenix snorts, ignoring his whining as per usual. “Glad to see him saving your life hasn’t spared the rest of us from being subjected to your shameless sexual tension.”

“It’s just regular tension because we don’t like each other very much. You only think it’s sexual because we’re both attractive.”

Pure glee immediately takes over her wry expression. “So, you do think he’s hot.”

“Christ,” Bradley sighs, the word coming out more clipped than Phoenix probably deserves. “Yes, Tash, I have eyes.”

Eyes that can currently see the line of Hangman’s throat as it works to swallow half of his beer in one go.

“Don’t bite my head off, Bradshaw,” she chastises. “I was wary when I heard he was coming to Virginia too, but insufferable horniness aside it does seem like things have changed between you two. For the better, I’d say.”

“Sorry,” Bradley says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t know what his angle is lately. Maybe he wants to feel better about being such a dick for so long. Maybe I’ll feel better when he’s done.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow, and he tries not to balk at the contempt she manages in one minuscule expression. “Yeah, because you’ve always been your most cool-headed with him.”

Bradley makes a face. “Fine, I could probably stand to stop being a dick to him too.”

“There may still be some hope for you yet.” She tips her empty glass toward him. “Now extend that newfound graciousness in this direction and get me another beer.”

+

As nice as it is to have Phoenix on the same side of the country with him for once, Bradley still feels off-kilter.

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

The issue is on the ground. And it’s always worse just after a hop, just after he’s pleased to finally have his head clearing, crossing his fingers that it’ll last.

He must be obvious because Hangman lingers after getting ready for a flight of his own, leaning against the locker next to Bradley’s, arms crossed but relaxed as ever. “Y’all looked good up there.”

Bradley nods, curt. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches out between them, only muffled voices moving down the hallway outside the locker room and the plink plink plink of the dripping showers to be heard.

“You good, Bradshaw?”

“Peachy,” Bradley responds gruffly, slamming his locker door with a little more force than is probably necessary. He’d feel bad for his complete shutdown of Hangman’s attempts at friendliness, for doing the exact opposite of what he promised Phoenix he’d do if he could string together a single coherent thought.

As it stands, his brain feels like it’s been in a blender on high, so he nods goodbye to the blonde and makes his way to his car without registering a single other face he passes.

When he gets tired of aimlessly wandering around his house and only half-finishing tasks, he runs. Black New Balances pounding the pavement, lungs burning. It could be three miles or thirteen, he has no idea. It should tell him something about the state of his brain that a man who previously avoided cardio – as much as anyone in the military can actually avoid it – has no idea if he just ran a half-marathon.

It would tell him something. If he were at all interested in listening.

When he finally looks up from the cracks in the sidewalk a new problem becomes apparent; he has no idea where he is. His legs are starting to feel like jelly, putting a mark in that half-marathon column.

Bradley pulls up Uber, not even bothering to consider running back home. It’s twenty minutes out and he tries not to grumble too much about having to wait. It’s his own fault anyways.

Just when he’s looking for a way to bide his time on his phone, Hangman’s name flashes across his screen.

Why the hell is Seresin calling him?

“Hello?” Bradley asks tentatively, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Rooster,” Hangman drawls.

“Yes?”

“What’re you up to?”

“What?”

“Currently,” Hangman says, enunciating every syllable, slowly like he thinks Bradley might be stupid. He probably has a leg to stand on; Bradley feels pretty stupid right now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Bradley rubs the back of his neck awkwardly even though Jake can’t see him, “in Mount Trashmore Park.”

Hangman snorts. “Doing what? Watching your brothers and sisters fly around?”

“Ran here. Waiting for an Uber back home but it’s a ways out.”

“You ran there.” It’s not even a question. His tone is clipped, dry, and flat. Bradley can practically hear the judgmental curl of his lips through the line.

He grunts. Why doesn’t he just hang up? “Yep.”

Bradley hears the other man exhale, wondering if he imagines the amusement that comes across as just a little staticky. “You know, most people run in a loop. I know you’re new to this whole cardio thing, but it makes it easier.”

“Thanks, never thought of that before,” Bradley deadpans. “Did you just call to give me unsolicited personal training advice or was there something you needed?”

“Cancel your Uber, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bradley stares at the phone in his hand quizzically for a good thirty seconds after Hangman ends the call. Weighs his options. It’s easier not to argue, honestly, as stubborn as Bradley is, he knows Seresin can be just as much of an immovable object when he wants to be. He cancels the ride after a little deliberation, left to the muddled nonsense that’s made up his brain since the mission.

The breeze feels nice on his face, at least. The leaves always look pretty this time of year. It’s something he misses, when he’s home in California, the only downside to eternal summer sunshine.

True to his word, Hangman’s unnecessary F-150 pulls up eight minutes later.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks in lieu of a greeting after Bradley’s buckled his seatbelt, magnanimous like he thinks he’s doing Bradley a favor.

Bradley decides to ignore the fact that he kind of is.

He aims to keep the crisp air out of his voice, trying his hand at Hangman’s brand of measured casualness. “Talk about what?”

Hangman rolls his eyes. Bradley refuses to let his hackles raise, unclenching his fist where it lays next to his thigh one finger at a time.

“You’ve hated running ever since I’ve known you. I have quite literally never witnessed you run by choice.”

“It’s bad for me to start taking care of my cardiovascular health?”

The blonde sighs, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, jade gaze on the road in front of him. Bradley finds himself wondering how much energy it’s costing him, to skirt this close to compassion. “You live at least ten miles from here.”

“So?”

“This is kind of a shitty area, dude.”

Bradley shrugs. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Hangman lets out a frustrated huff. Bradley knows he’s being deliberately obtuse but can’t find it in himself to care, so he looks out the window, counting the cookie-cutter houses as they drive by.

“Look – I – you don’t have to talk to me,” Hangman says when they pull up in front of Bradley’s little craftsman house. It's clear this is even more uncomfortable for him than it is for Bradley. “There are definitely better options. But you should talk to someone. It’s obvious, it’s been obvious, that something’s off with you.”

“My flying’s fine,” Bradley responds tightly. Great, actually. Better than ever. The only thing that feels right these days, he doesn’t say.

“Your flying isn’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

Bradley fights a full-body cringe. They’re treading far too close to something Bradley has been professionally avoiding since the mission. Since before, if he’s being honest. Introspection has never been where he shines.

“Thanks for the ride,” Bradley says pointedly, getting out of the car determined to remain steady on his feet in front of the other man even though his legs feel like they’d give out underneath him at any moment.

“You’re welcome, Bradshaw. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Only after Bradley shuts his front door behind him does he realize that Hangman never told him why he called in the first place.

The word maybe was beginning to annoy me, because the only thing that was fixed was that maybe would be with me forever.

- Markus Zusak, Underdog

Even at the height of their antagonism, Bradley has always been able to recognize that Hangman’s attractive. Everyone knows he’s attractive. Hangman knows he’s attractive, with his broad shoulders and a slim waist, that dimple that everyone’s eyes are drawn to whenever he wants them to be.

It’s not Hangman’s fault, not really. The guy’s magnetic; always has been. It used to grate on Bradley, the ease at which Hangman carries himself, the way he makes everything look natural – it’s never once failed in its mission to make Bradley feel inadequate.

Until now. Now, he watches pink lips curl into a smirk and all he can think of is biting them red.

He just doesn’t remember ever looking quite this much. Hangman’s always been on the periphery of his radar but lately, it’s more like Hangman’s a flame and Bradley the moth doomed to its death. Bradley makes a point not to sleep with coworkers, and it truly is a terrible idea in this case. Even though they’re on different squadrons it’d be reckless to upset this new balance they’re coming to. Not friends, exactly, but a sort of peace treaty, nonetheless.

A peace treaty that Bradley considers lighting fire to every time Hangman bends over the pool table to reach an impossible shot.

Maybe he just needs to get laid. Celibacy is clearly fucking with his head.

Because none of his internal crisis seems to matter with the way Hangman’s drawl gets a little syrupier as he straightens up so he can look down at the redhead in front of him, laughing as she meets his sarcasm with quips of her own. Red nails, a shade brighter than her hair, wrap around Hangman’s arm, inching underneath where the sleeve of his uniform strains against his bicep.

Bradley looks away. Tries to focus on Phoenix and her new backseater Cage across from him at their high top. Fails. Why did he choose to sit so close to the pool table anyway?

She’s beautiful. Her laugh is lyrical and gorgeous, but it settles uncomfortably underneath Bradley’s skin. He’s refusing to think too hard about why that is.

He knows he’s getting more and more unbearable to be around, quiet and sullen and surly for no apparent reason. He’s only had two beers but figures it’s time to go home as he ambles to the bar; before everyone gets a glimpse of the real, moody Bradley they’d probably rather not know.

“Close me out instead?” He asks when Isaac makes his way over, holding up an unopened beer in silent question.

Isaac’s eyebrows raise but he nods, taking Bradley’s proffered card without any questioning.

“Gonna head out,” Bradley tells Phoenix and Cage when he returns empty-handed.

“I want to give you a hard time for bailing so early when we have a full day off tomorrow, but I know your students were a pain in the ass today, so I guess I’ll let it slide,” Phoenix grumbles. “Plus, old men need extra beauty rest.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, tone dry, even though the smile twitching underneath his mustache carries nothing but fondness. “Back in my day, we went to bed at a reasonable hour but thanks so much for the mitigated support, Tash.”

Phoenix tilts her beer at him. “Anything for you, birdie.”

Bradley tries not to clench his jaw at her use of Hangman’s nickname for him, adding his visceral reaction to the list of things he is adamantly not-thinking-too-hard-about.

When Bradley tosses a lazy salute in goodbye over towards Hangman and Red, something unreadable flashes across those sharp green eyes but before he can make heads or tails of it, it’s gone. He’s out the door and driving home in a daze moments later anyways, hoping the couple of beers he’s had will shut his brain up long enough for him to fall asleep.

+

Bradley's cursing the country station he’s had on in his car as of late, wondering which stupid song convinced him beer was the answer to the muddled nonsense that's been making up his brain. As he stares up at the ceiling fan and its endless circles, trying to decide at what point he should just give up on going back to sleep and do something productive, he hears his phone buzz, a text from Hangman lighting up the screen.

You up?

Bradley snorts in amusement as he replies, think u have me confused with that redhead from the bar

He watches the three dots in their message thread appear and disappear a few times, brows furrowing as he sends another text, u need a ride home?

Maybe they’re not friends but Bradley probably owes him one after the whole park debacle.

Hangman calls him almost immediately after the text shows as delivered and Bradley’s so confused, he picks up on the second ring.

“You good?”

The shaky exhale across the line answers that but he hears the blonde’s voice a moment later. “Bradshaw, you know the answer to that.”

It feels like a deflection in his ears; Bradley decides not to call him on it because he's nice like that. Or because he's really too tired to be throwing stones. Glass houses and all that. “What’re you doing up? Need a ride or something?” Hangman doesn’t sound drunk, but Bradley feels the need to offer again anyways.

“Could ask you the same thing. No, went home not long after you did.”

Bradley’s a little surprised by that, trying to shrug it off before speaking again. “Sleep and I haven’t been on great terms lately.”

Another shaky exhale. “Yeah, same.”

He could just hang up. Should hang up, probably, and do breathing techniques or count sheep until his mind shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep.

What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Think I’m gonna go to CVS for snacks. Want to come?”

“It’s two in the morning.” There’s the barest hint of amusement coming across the line now and Bradley barely resists feeling too proud about it.

“The one on Booth is open 24/7.”

Hangman huffs out what could be an actual laugh or what might be an extreme form of judgment. “You would make me get out of bed for sour straws in the middle of the night.”

“Says the one that called me. You wanna come or not?”

Hangman grumbles something unintelligible before Bradley can hear the rustling of sheets, what he assumes is the other man getting out of bed. “You better be picking me up.”

+

When Hangman walks out of his house, he can see the blonde looking at him like he doesn’t fully believe he’s there, dark circles prominent underneath his usually flawless golden skin. It shouldn’t be this obvious in the dark, with only the streetlights and full moon to give Bradley enough light to see him.

He wracks his brain trying to remember if Hangman looked this gaunt earlier at Haddy’s, but he’s tired enough to acknowledge that he was a little focused on the way the other man’s khakis stretched over his ass and not so much on his face.

They drive in a comfortable silence that always feels right for this time of night, both humming along to George Strait playing on the radio. Bradley succeeds in keeping his eyes mostly on the road, if only because the pensive way Hangman's staring out the window is freaking him out a little bit.

Four seconds after being under the headache-inducing fluorescent lights of CVS, Hangman wanders off mumbling something about moisturizer that Bradley doesn’t have the mental capacity to needle him about at the moment.

Chips and Nerds gummy clusters, he repeats the other man’s request in his head, because Hangman snacks like a ten-year-old let loose without parents. He throws trail mix into his basket because he’s an adult in his thirties. Even if he is at a drugstore in the middle of the night; with his only company a weird sort of-work-friend and high schoolers whose fake IDs haven’t come in the mail yet.

He slows to a stop in the packed chips aisle, swallowing reflexively as he takes in the selection.

It’s absurd. There must be fifty different kinds of chips in here.

Bradley’s eyes flit left and right, hand halfway to the nearest bag of Doritos. It drops back by his side, fingers flexing against his worn jeans.

His throat is drying, bright colors in myriads of packaging blurring at the edges of where his vision is starting to tunnel. Fluorescent lighting flickers overhead, the floor beneath his Converse shiny and speckled with black marks with absolutely no rhyme or reason.

This is where Hangman finds him, the other man stopping short with undoubtedly overpriced moisturizer in his hands, blonde eyebrows creeping towards his hairline.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I –” Bradley clears his throat, trying to blink the glare out of his eyes. “Wasn’t sure what kind of chips you wanted.”

Hangman plucks a bag of salt and vinegar off the shelf, seemingly at random. “These are fine.”

“Right.” He manages, words scraping against the sandpaper in his throat. “Didn’t get your candy yet, either.”

Hangman gives him a look that’s far too knowing for Bradley’s liking but thankfully doesn’t comment on it, stalking to the candy aisle while Bradley follows him like a lost puppy.

They pay the uninterested cashier who checks them out without even bothering to stop texting her boyfriend before heading back to Bradley’s car, tracing his path back to Jake’s on autopilot.

Hangman is staring straight ahead out of the windshield, measured indifference painted across his angular features. “You wanna come in? I have episodes of Bachelor in Paradise to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Bradley croaks. “Should’ve known you’d be into that crap.”

It must sound even more of a pathetic attempt at snark than it feels because Hangman doesn’t even bother to defend his choice in TV shows, doesn’t take the obvious shot at Bradley’s usually vintage taste.

They settle on a shockingly comfortable grey couch and Jake nods off twenty minutes into the show with his hand still in the bag of trail mix, head lolling onto Bradley’s shoulder. If Bradley’s brain finally shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep only when he can hear the even rhythm of Jake’s breathing and smell the faint spiciness from his cologne, well, that’ll be between him and no one else.

Tell me where it hurts, she’d say. Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where. But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The first thing Bradley thinks when he wakes up with a crick in his neck is that his mouth tastes horrible.

The second is that he’s not sure he’ll recover from the glimpse he catches of Hangman, tiptoeing past him from what’s presumably the bathroom to the kitchen, towel slung low around his waist and hanging on for dear life.

Jesus Christ, Bradley grumbles silently. How hard is it to put on pants when you get out of the shower and not waltz around with maybe-maybe not-friends-probably-still-just-coworkers in your living room? Some of us need our brains in the morning. To think.

“Hey – uh – sorry,” Bradley croaks, easing himself up into a sitting position and trying not to audibly groan since he’s far too old to be sleeping on peoples’ couches. Judging by Hangman’s facial expression, he’s not very successful.

Hangman has a weird look in his eyes. If Bradley didn’t know him any better, he’d think there was a softness there.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Hangman hums noncommittally. Bradley’s brain is still working at half-speed, trying to figure out how strong his coffee needs to be to combat whatever died in his mouth.

“Breakfast?” Hangman asks, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he’s in. “There’s a spare toothbrush or two in the hall bathroom, under the sink.”

“Never took you as the morning-after-breakfast type, Seresin.”

Hangman narrows his eyes, but Bradley doesn’t miss the slight flush rising to his cheekbones. “I’m a fucking gentleman. Shut up.”

Bradley grins, fighting the urge to whistle as he gets up to head towards the bathroom. He’s just glad to have recovered quicker than Hangman for once. When he gets back Hangman is thankfully wearing shorts and standing at the stove pushing egg whites and spinach onto plates with a spatula. Bradley bites down on a joke about his gym bro breakfast since Hangman’s being nice enough to make him food, settling on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Black?” Hangman tosses over his shoulder as he finishes plating.

“Huh?” Bradley asks eloquently, willing his eyes away from Hangman’s back dimples.

Hangman shoots him a look. “Black coffee fine with you? I don’t think I have milk.”

“Yeah, however,” Bradley responds. He’ll blame staying up far too late and sleeping on a couch for how slowly his brain seems to be functioning. “Thanks.”

Hangman waves it off, mumbling something that sounds like it’s nothing before setting Bradley’s food and coffee down in front of him, then circling the counter to sit next to him.

“What got you up so early?”

“Gym,” Hangman mumbles around a mouthful of omelette. It’s disgusting but Bradley’s more nauseated with himself for not being put off by it.

“You got up and worked out already?”

Hangman grins, nudging Bradley with his shoulder conspiratorially. “Yeah, some of us actually like it. Unfathomable, I know.”

“Hey I like it sometimes,” Bradley insists. Faced with Hangman’s skepticism he amends, “Okay, I mostly work out so I don’t hurt myself throwing heavy things around, not because I like it.”

Hangman looks him up and down out of the side of his eyes at that, more subtle than Bradley ever is, but noticeable enough that Bradley fights not to fidget in his seat. One second longer and Bradley’s going to start getting some real idiotic ideas, so he changes the subject. “You going to Rebound’s wedding today?”

Rebound’s an okay guy, one of the pilots on Hangman's new squad. Bradley’s known him since they were both in Pensacola for API. They get along, but Bradley gets along with almost everyone he meets. Present company excluded, at first.

He’s not particularly looking forward to the wedding for some reason. He knows Rebound tends to act single on deployment regardless of relationship status, and Bradley has never understood why you’d bother getting married if that’s not the life you want. He doesn’t know what’s worse – that Rebound might be marrying a girl only to get a boat boo the moment he steps on another aircraft carrier or that he might’ve finally grown up well before Bradley has bothered trying.

Hangman snorts, pulling Bradley out of his selfish deliberation. “Yeah, have to. Only narrowly avoided being a part of the wedding party.”

“He wanted you to be in his wedding, and you’ve known him, what, a month?” Bradley knows the flare of possessiveness that’s flashing through him is not only misplaced but also completely irrational. Rebound’s getting fucking married today, what is his problem?

Hangman blanches. “Don’t act so surprised, Bradshaw.”

Bradley swallows the sorry that wants to leave his lips. “Everyone being obsessed with you is the least surprising thing to happen this week.”

Something indecipherable flashes across Hangman’s face at that but he tries not to read into it much.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” Bradley says awkwardly when they’ve finished eating and making fun of people they work with. “Thanks for breakfast, and for letting me crash, seriously. You didn’t have to.”

“Anytime, Bradshaw,” Hangman answers, clearly not intending to say anything more.

So, they’re not talking about it, then.

+

Bradley tugs at his choker whites where they feel too tight across his collarbones, already regretting wearing them, regretting coming to this wedding at all.

His back is always stiff in a church pew. The hardwood digs into his thighs, the angle of the seat twinging his back. He doesn’t know how people do this every week. Maybe believing in God makes the seats more comfortable.

Hangman settles himself down next to Bradley with the grace of a much smaller man and Bradley tries his best not to react. He looks relaxed on the uncomfortable wood, because does he ever look uneasy? No. Probably grew up in chapels like this one, down to the dusty windows.

“Don’t know why everyone insists on getting married in a church,” Jake mumbles out of the side of his mouth like he can read Bradley’s discomfort. “Rebound isn’t even Christian.”

Bradley snorts. He agrees but is a little surprised Hangman does too. “Not a weekly attendee? Thought you would’ve practically grown up in a place like this.”

Hangman’s eyes slide sideways, disapproval of Bradley’s intelligence clear on the curl of his pink lips. “Churches in the small towns of Texas don’t usually look kindly on my interest in dick, Rooster.”

Bradley freezes.

Hangman’s brows furrow.

“Sorry – I thought you were – I mean you and that guy Matt…” Hangman trails off. “Anyways, I thought you knew. Or I didn’t think you’d care.”

It’s almost funny, seeing Hangman trip over his own words for once. Almost.

Might be if Bradley wasn’t so busy making a colossal ass of himself.

If Bradley hadn’t thought Hangman was straight for the better part of the last decade and wasn’t currently having his entire world flipped upside down, it’d be hilarious.

“No.” Bradley clears his throat. “I didn’t know, but of course it’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine.”

Hangman nods tightly, pursing his lips like it’s anything but. He’s right, on some level, but not for the reason he thinks he is.

+

Fine. The word of the day for Bradley.

The ceremony is fine. It’s all fine and cheesy and forgettable with 1 Corinthians being recited at the altar. It makes Bradley’s skin itch, the talk of the future and building a life together when he himself can barely understand what’s going on in his life day to day.

Fine despite putting his foot in his mouth with Hangman earlier. Who seems to appreciate Bradley buying him a tequila soda in silent apology (because really, Rebound, a fucking cash bar?) and sitting down at an empty table with him on the outskirts of the dance floor, anyways.

Jake repays him with a running commentary of who he thinks will end up going home together, both men with eyes on their friends and coworkers acting rowdy and generally making an ass of themselves. It’s amusing at least, even if Bradley can’t put his heart fully into it. He’s willing to put money on Jake’s predictions being dead on.

Someone convinces the band to play Taylor Swift. Bradley tries not to wince.

Jake snorts a laugh into his drink. “Not gonna laud us with Jerry Lee Lewis renditions tonight?”

“Pretty sure Big Ray & the Kool Kats wouldn’t look too kindly on me taking over just so I don’t have to hear ‘Love Story’,” Bradley responds wryly. He has no idea if that’s the band’s actual name and can’t be bothered to check.

“You would hate T-Swift, pretentious hipster,” Jake grumbles.

“I don’t but her songs always get stuck in my head for weeks on end and then-” Bradley cuts himself off when he sees Cage beelining for them, holding his breath to see if the WSO makes it all the way to them without knocking anything over.

“Hey,” Cage says as he plops down gracelessly across from them, the stunning conversationalist that he is.

Despite feeling out of it, Bradley fights a chuckle. He’s known Cage since well before he started flying with Phoenix, and in all that time his alcohol tolerance has somehow never increased. Hangman opens his mouth to say something but stops when he clocks the minute shaking of Bradley’s head, Bradley is well-versed in the face drunk Cage makes when he’s about to say something amusing and stupid.

He doesn’t disappoint. “D’you think that girl over there likes me?”

Jake squints. Bradley tries not to get sidetracked by the little crinkles around his eyes.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, buddy,” he advises when he regains focus.

Cage’s eyes get comically large. “I would never, Rooster. You would though. Because your ass is dumb. A dumbass,” Cage slurs. He must be hanging onto the clever comebacks for tomorrow. “I might be drunk.”

“Wow, really,” Jake replies, drier than the Sahara. “We couldn’t tell.”

“But you guys don’t get it. Look at you,” Cage laments, turning directly to Jake. “Those cheekbones could cut glass. You could have any girl you want. And Rooster doesn’t love love, not like I do. He doesn’t want the white picket fence. I’m jealous. I wish I wanted to be alone forever.”

Bradley blinks.

Cage isn’t exactly right but he’s not entirely wrong, either. And Bradley shouldn’t be surprised that’s what his friend thinks of him. He’s always shied away from serious relationships, always had a hard time opening up to people enough to get them to stick around. Emotionally unavailable, more than one previous girlfriend has shouted at him in frustration.

He thinks of his mom, eyes far away and glassy for most days of every June that Bradley can remember. Thinks of the wedding ring she never could take off, the way she would always run her thumb across it without realizing it. He can still picture how stiff her smile seemed at his aunt’s wedding, can still feel the resentment that burrowed its way into his chest throughout the ceremony.

He feels defensive all of a sudden, like he has every time a partner has begged him for a shred of vulnerability, like even though he was already pushing himself it still wasn’t enough. Cage gets distracted again before he has to respond anyways, stumbling up and to another group – presumably to find someone more supportive of his quest for the love of his life.

“Need some air,” Bradley mutters to Jake, words scraping his throat like sandpaper.

He makes it outside, facing the ocean. It should calm him down, should be familiar enough to quell the anger simmering beneath his surface, bubbling up to swirl and mix with the little tinge of grief that never seems to fully go away.

Should, but doesn’t. The ocean air tastes different in Virginia. It always has.

He hates it less than being stuck somewhere like Fallon, or even Lemoore, but the humidity of the East Coast has always settled under his skin wrong, lungs fighting for their lives in a steam room.

He doesn’t have this guy in him, hasn’t for a while now. Likable Bradley: the guy that buys everyone a beer and doesn’t leave the dance floor. The person who can play Jerry Lee Lewis and sing his heart out, waltzes into a bar, smiling and happy. The person that’s easy, that gets along with everyone and rolls with the punches. He doesn’t have it in him to play the part. Not anymore.

He feels his chest tightening, bile rising.

Bradley leans over the railing, eyes fixed on grains of sand below. For a second, he’s back home in California, steps away from his childhood home, Fleetwood Mac drifting from the open windows, those old red gingham curtains flowing in the wind. His mom humming under her breath in the kitchen, wooden spoon gently folding whipped egg whites into sifted flour for the signature Carole Bradshaw angel food cake.

Jake appears at his elbow, because of course he does. Because he’s everywhere, all the time, his laugh always distant but just within Bradley’s earshot, that smirk painted on his face like he knows a secret no one else does, at the edges of Bradley’s vision. His eternal tan glowing insistently against his dress whites.

“Sorry,” Bradley grits out. “Not in the mood.”

“He’s drunk,” Jake offers, even and calm like always.

“I’m not mad at him.”

“Evidence to the contrary,” he answers, hands out in a sweeping motion displaying their location, waving over where Bradley’s gripping the railing like he’s trying to crush the wood out of sheer force of will.

“Leave it alone, Jake,” Bradley warns, closing his eyes.

“Make me.”

Seven things flicker like a movie behind Bradley’s eyelids. Maybe not deadly but definitely all sins.

When he opens his eyes Jake’s eyebrow is raised, but there’s heat fighting its way through the snark. “Gotta stop bottling it all up someday.”

Bradley turns and takes half a step closer to Jake, moving like he’s going to box him in against the railing but stopping a little short, giving the other man plenty of time to tell him to fuck off.

He doesn’t.

“You’re angry about something. Death grip on the yoke and frozen in a spin.” Jake tilts his chin defiantly but doesn’t move, eyes locked on Bradley’s, challenging.

Bradley leans in closer, crowding Jake against the railing, hands going to his waist to mar his pristine, white uniform. He slots a thigh in between Jake’s so he can watch green pupils blow dark until there’s only the thinnest line of color left.

He doesn’t say anything. Knows he doesn’t have to.

“Come on,” Jake goads, that infuriating smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you have to work out – you know I can handle it.”

“That what you need?” Bradley growls when Jake pushes against his hold, fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Need me to hold you down and make you take it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t need it too,” Jake sasses back, fire still burning under hooded eyes. “Like you don’t need someone to help you feel like you’re in control for once.”

Figures. Of course, he’s a brat who won’t make it easy on Bradley.

He shifts his thigh against where it presses against the blonde. “How’d you get here?” Jake’s eyes flutter closed, teeth raking over his bottom lip. Bradley squeezes his waist, trying not to preen at how responsive Jake already is. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Took an Uber,” Jake breathes out, eyes reopening slowly and recentering on Bradley’s face.

Bradley doesn’t kiss him, not yet, not here. Doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. “Let’s go,” he says instead, hands regrettably leaving Jake’s sides so they can make their way to the parking lot without drawing too much attention.

They’re quiet in the car again, but amusement floats from Jake's side of the car as Bradley drives a little faster than normal, his braking at stoplights a touch jerkier, entire body brimming with tension.

Bradley’s self-control cracks the moment he follows Jake through his front door.

“Off,” he mutters against Jake’s skin, fingers working open the buttons of his uniform as he presses him back against the door, using his slight height advantage to tower over him and slot their lips together.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost all that famous Bradshaw patience,” Jake pants when Bradley comes up for air.

Bradley shoots him a dark look, one hand moving to Jake’s jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t be a brat or I’ll have to show you how patient I can really be. String you out all night, bring you to the edge again and again but never let you go over.”

Jake’s head thumps back against the door at that, a high-pitched whine leaving through gritted teeth as he presses into Bradley’s grip. “Bedroom now, Bradshaw, come on.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow, hand frozen in place around Jake’s neck, thumb rubbing across his pulse point but otherwise refusing to move.

“Please,” Jake whines.

“There we go. Was that so hard, sweetheart?” Bradley finally lets up, allowing a modicum of space between the two of them.

“Sadist,” Jake tosses over his shoulder as he heads towards the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of his uniform before Bradley can even react.

Bradley would be impressed by how fast Jake undresses, quick and efficient like only Hangman can be, if he weren’t busy taking in the strong lines of his back, the muscle rippling beneath his golden skin as he turns around to lay on the bed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” Bradley murmurs. “Perfect all over, aren’t you?”

Jake lowers his eyes at that, a flush rising up his chest. Bradley divests himself of his own clothes while Jake twists to rummage in the nightstand drawer for a condom and lube.

Bradley shoulders Jake’s legs apart with a little more force than is strictly necessary, probably, but the way Jake’s eyes glaze over whenever he gets manhandled makes it hard to resist. He warms up the lube in his fingers, kissing down Jake’s stomach and nipping at the Adonis belt on his hips. Jake tangles his fingers in Bradley's curls and Bradley feels his cock jerk in response.

He mouths at Jake’s cock where it curls up against his stomach, leaking precum on the stark lines of his abs, light and teasing. When he finally licks a stripe up the shaft and takes the tip into his mouth Jake groans, hips jerking.

Bradley takes as much of Jake’s cock in his mouth as he can at the same time he slides one finger in his hole, all the way to the knuckle. Jake tenses before forcibly relaxing and Bradley slides his lips over Jake again, relishing in the breathy noises leaving him without his permission as he can’t seem to decide whether he should fuck himself down onto Bradley’s finger or up into his mouth.

He hums around the length and darts his eyes up to look at Jake where he’s writhing on the pillows, head thrown back against them. He gets a good rhythm going, adding another finger and pressing down on Jake’s prostate on every other pump in to hear his whines rise another octave.

When he feels Jake’s abs start to tense, when Jake is whimpering yes and fuck and Bradley in a continuous loop, he pulls off, trying to hide his amusement at Jake’s now indignant protests.

“Bradshaw, what the fu-” Jake starts before Bradley moves up to kiss him quiet.

“Always so mouthy,” Bradley teases, moving down to nose underneath Jake’s jaw, to drag his teeth along his collarbone. “Be good and you’ll get what you want.”

He latches onto a nipple and proceeds to wind Jake up again with his fingers. Brings him to the edge one, two, three more times until Jake is a whimpering mess, tears leaking from the corners of his pretty eyes.

“Fuck me, let me come, something, anything, please.” Jake’s begging now, words starting to slur together with desperation.

“All right, princess,” Bradley coos, gently wiping tears from Jake’s cheekbones with the pad of his thumb rolling the condom onto himself with his other hand in a feat of coordination he never thought himself capable of. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Jake’s eyes are completely glazed over, staring up at Bradley hazily and unfocused. Bradley has to grip the base of his cock tightly not to come at the sight.

He could probably stand to be gentler but at this point, Bradley doesn’t give a single fuck. He lines himself up and pushes in, slowly as he can manage, groaning when he bottoms out. Jake’s hole stretching even further around his length has his eyes crossing, ears ringing and he knows he won’t last long, watching Jake having keyed him up past the boundaries of his willpower. He wraps a hand around Jake’s cock, stripping him in time with the building pace of his thrusts, Jake getting louder and louder even more rapidly than before.

Jake clenches around him as he comes with Bradley’s name on his lips, making Bradley’s eyes roll back in his head at the force of it, at the way his legs wrap around his hips as he arches in pleasure. Bradley’s own orgasm snaps through him, with Jake whimpering from overstimulation but somehow still asking for more.

He barely manages to hold his weight and avoid crushing Jake, pulling out as gently as possible and tying off the condom, tossing it into the trash can underneath the nightstand letting himself collapse next to Jake.

“You okay?” Bradley asks quietly, clarity having made him a little self-conscious about acting like a neanderthal.

Jake nods against Bradley’s chest and when Bradley leans back to look, he’s smiling up at him with his eyes closed, blissful.

Bradley eventually finds the strength to go get a washcloth and clean Jake up, throwing it in the direction of what he thinks is the hamper before pulling his boxers back on. He hopes Jake doesn’t mind him spending the night again, because the drinks from the wedding are catching up to him and his eyes are practically slipping closed already as he flops back down onto the bed.

He’s halfway asleep but he thinks he feels Jake curling into his chest before he slips under.

additional an-

mt trashmore is a real park in VB, have been informed it's in a nice area hahahah oops sorry the name is funny

cvs scene inspired by the cereal aisle scene from the hurt locker, though the intents are way different have to give the shout out because that scene is straight up brilliant

f/a-18s have a stick instead of a yoke but i'm not gonna write death grip on a stick for obvious reasons lol

thanks for reading!

#hangster #sereshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #rooster x hangman #rooster top gun #hangman top gun #hangman angst #rooster angst #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #hangster angst #bradley x jake #hangman x rooster #hangaroo #tgm fic #rooster fanfic #hangman fic #hangman smut #rooster smut #rooster fic #tgm

[the-ace-with-spades]

(another unfinished post i found on the way to glasgow - that was the longest train ride in my life - I'm sorry in advance)

When Ice finally passes away, at the age of 73, in his sleep, Bradley moves Mav into their house the same day.

He gets the call in the morning, while trying to simultaneously cook Jake's breakfast and try to make their daughter put on a rain jacket. It's not Mav, but someone from the hospital. Jake doesn't know this — Bradley's face twitches only for a second and then he's back to the nagging, relaxing tone and telling their daughter it's raining and it won't stop. Jake only finds out when he comes back home from the school drop-off and Mav is already there on their couch. Jake doesn't even get the full explanation until that night, just a quick, "Ice passed away overnight."

There's only their three youngest living with them at the time — their 18-year-old daughter who attends UC San Diego, and their 15-year-old son who is still in high school, and their 7-year-old daughter — so Mav takes one of the vacant bedrooms.

The first few nights, Bradley sleeps in the same bed with him. Neither of them looks like they get much sleep. They don't really eat, either, just drink coffee and nibble on the crackers.

The kids start coming back home, and their oldest helps Jake arrange most of the things for the funeral, at least for the first few days. Mav is... numb, not really there, and Jake understands — he would, too, if he woke up one day and his husband died in his sleep next to him. Bradley is silent, mostly, the way he usually rambles to fill out the silence, the way he hums, the way he sings at any given time when there are no words spoken, it's all gone and Jake doesn't know how to fill out the silence either, how to ask, how to make it better without asking.

Bradley doesn't cry, or at least not the way he knows Mav does — he can see Mav's red eyes every morning — but there's something empty in his gaze, in the way his eyes follow Mav and in the way he melts whenever Mav is around, always close, always brushing against him. Mav spaces out a lot, doesn't talk much, doesn't—well, doesn't do much. Every time he tries to help with something, paperwork, the funeral arrangements, the hospital bills, even just sorting out the kids' school leave or Jake's own work leave, he fumbles a bit, not really able to focus on anything for long, and it's like his mind is completely scrambled. Jake doesn't know how to help him — doesn't know if they even can.

The kids, well, did not take it well, as expected. The oldest two try to be brave and help Jake with everything, keep the house going, but their youngest daughter doesn't really understand why her pops isn't back, the middle kids don't understand why now — Ice was in remission, in good health, would go hiking with them once a month, play with them in the backyard, talking about plans for the future with them, nothing that would tell them to expect their pops passing away. Mav and Ice had taken care of all of them for years, while Jake and Bradley were still deployable, and helping out as much as they could. Ice was a huge part of their lives, since the very beginning.

Bradley is certainly not doing any better but one couldn't be able to tell if they didn't know him well enough. He's always been more for packing his feelings into a tight neat box, compartmentalizing until there is too much and it all overflows in some explosive way. His focus is mostly on Mav and the kids, trusting Jake to take care of anything he can't.

Jake can't even ask him how he's doing until the night before the funeral.

Mav tells Bradley he wants to be alone that night and Bradley lands in their bedroom.

He acts normal — checks the kids are in bed, checks on Mav, prepares stuff for breakfast in the morning, has a shower. Only when he sits down in their bed, their dress blues, cleaned and pressed sitting on the hangers hooked up on their wardrobe, right in front of him—only then he freezes, a blank stare still on the uniforms.

Jake sits down next to him on the bed. "Talk to me, Bradley."

"I knew it was going to happen at some point, I just," "I just thought we would have a few more years."

Bradley sleeps curled up on his chest — he sleeps the whole night, soundlessly, and Jake is almost settled.

Almost. Mav is a couple doors down, alone.

Ice's been—had been retired many years now, but he had been high enough in the ranks that the Navy still insists on making a military funeral. Jake tried to take away as much of the flashy bullshit as possible, but there are still things leftover — the sailors with the flag, the flyover. But there's no one who wasn't close with the family at the ceremony, there's no speeches, and no one tries to hand either Mav or Bradley a flag.

The wake has an even smaller amount of people, all packed in their house — Mav hasn't been at his own house since — and thanks to Slider, mostly, and his 'the bastard wouldn't want us to mope around', it's less sad and quiet.

Mav eats two slices of cake, which is the most Jake's seen him eat since, and even laughs at some stories about Ice people are exchanging.

Ice had a good life. A big family. A big happy family that loved him.

But life goes on without him. Jake goes back to work first, then the kids have to go back to school, then Bradley has to back to work. After a couple of days alone at their house, Mav starts bringing up moving back to his own house.

He's not really doing great. He's still quiet, still spaces out more often than not, still forgets himself sometimes, still freezes whenever he tries to say something and the we he uses is one person short. He's—lifeless, for a lack of better word, and seems like he's noticing it now that Bradley isn't with him most of the waking hours.

"That is our home," Mav tells them. "I can't abandon it forever, I'd be abandoning him, too, if I—"

Jake—Jake gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it.

Bradley's been fielding off any suggestions of Mav moving out but he's pretty sure that soon Mav is going to pack his stuff and up and leave without asking for permission.

"If he wants to move back home, we can't exactly hold him here. against his will."

"Jake," Bradley says. "I feel like—if we let Mav go back there alone, he's going to die of a broken heart and I won't have either of them anymore."

"Sweetheart—"

"I know it's selfish," he interrupts, "but I can't lose him, too. Not now."

Jake can't make Mav stay with them — so he finds the best solution he can and instead, they all move in with Mav. Hell with it, he's going to try to get everyone to live their lives to the end. They'd done it before, Mav, Ice, Bradley, Jake and their two kids under one roof, when their oldest two were their only two kids.

The two of them and two of their youngest; two of their kids move into their house so they don't have to sell it.

Mav lives on. They try to occupy his mind by throwing their youngest at him — ask him to take her to school, pick her up from school, take her to her gymnastics class, do her homework with her, teach her how to play piano. The other kids pick up on it, too, and their high schoolers would wrap Mav into doing math workbooks with them, or ask him to drive them to their friends' house, and the kids that have moved out ask Mav to go to lunch together or call him to ask him things about car and house repairs that don't exist.

Mav gets brighter every day. Never as bright as before, but no longer so numb.

Their daughter ends up never moving out and so do they.

They all get older but Mav holds up pretty well. He does break his hip when trying to wash the windows, had a limp and terrible back ache ever since, had to stop driving because he can't see shit, had to stop piloting even sooner, and his memory is also shit, but Jake is pretty sure his cholesterol is lower than his own and he has better blood pressure than Bradley. Bradley and Mav are the ones cooking after all, Jake is the one eating all the tasty but not healthiest food, and Mav's life revolves around spoiling his cute great-grandkids and Bradley's is filled with the constant stress of managing Navy's top flying school.

For his ninetieth birthday, Mav flies a fighter jet as a passenger, the oldest person to ever do that — his youngest granddaughter is the one to take him up in the air, a junior grade lieutenant herself. They have a birthday party held at their house, Mav falls asleep in the armchair, Bradley makes fun of him and promptly falls asleep on the couch, too. Jake loves them both so much and still kind of can't believe he has this — house full of grown-up kids and grandkids of his own, his graying husband of over thirty years, his father-in-law coming to an age he wanted to see his mother at.

They're cleaning up, their two daughters who still don't have kids and didn't need to go home helping, and Mav tells them he's going to get some fresh air on their veranda. "I've got a terrible headache," is all he says.

Half an hour passes, they've packed all the clean and dirty dishes, and Bradley huffs to himself. "He fell asleep on the bench again, didn't he," and goes outside.

Bradley shouts for him in less than a minute. The ambulance is there in eight. Within the half-hour and a CT scan in the hospital, the neurologist tells them Mav is too far gone to survive the day. Within six hours, every single person from their family has come to say goodbye. When they pass the seven hours mark, Jake stands up from the plastic chair behind Bradley — he's not about to tell Bradley he should rest, but he's been holding Mav's hand since the minute they admitted Mav to the ward and hasn't eaten or drunk anything all day. He tells him he'll go grab them a coffee and bagels and gets a little nod and a smile.

Jake comes back twenty minutes later and Bradley doesn't even look up from where he's gripping Mav's hand.

"Can you get the nurse for me?"

#this isn't really about Ice's death or Mav's death #but more about getting old in a family #sorry in advance #dunno if this made sense #idk felt some way when i wrote it #my nan had a stroke around that time and as a person who works mainly with critical stroke patients it hit hard #i didn't get into detail here but stroke patient at the end of their lives are very emotional sight for relatives #icemav #hangster #angst #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #tgm #charlie writes #op

[bo0tleg]

GEMS MY FRIEND SAID WATCHING 'TOP GUN: MAVERICK' FOR THE FIRST TIME:

"The jacket! The famous jacket that pulls women, pulls men, pulls the world!"

"Oh look how hot~ he looks on that motorcicle. He's even pracing his ass!"

(Maverick, on screen: "Well... He's not here yet.") The mans madness has begun."

"MAVERICK DON'T DIE YOU STILL NEED TO HAVE YOUR GAY ROMANCE!"

"He lasted two months at Top Gun? HA. He probably was a bigger piece of work than the students."

"From what I can tell, Maverick tamed Iceman. In the first one he was the little annoying bitch and Maverick saw a challenge."

"I mean, at least these two (Penny and Mav) have chemistry. They hooked up in a plane, after all."

"Iceman solves his problems, Iceman keeps his job, what a simp. That's dog behavior."

"Maverick doesn't look likes he's flirting with her, he's just confused. His confused face looks like his flirting face, and people assume. I know this because people do it to me."

"Yeah, he's kinda like that one Olívia Rodrigo song that she gets confused when she sees her ex... What was it again?" ('bad Idea right?' by Olivia Rodrigo)

"I like him (Bob)! He's pathetic like me!"

"Oooohhh they're (Phoenix and Bob) gonna be besties! I can feel it."

(When Phoenix racks Rooster with the cue) "OHOHOHOOOO I LIKE HER ALREADY."

(Didn't notice Hangman taking Bob's cue, I relayed the information) "Aaaahhh don't steal Bob's cue. Bob's cool, Bob's nice."

(After rewinding the scene) "NO, NO, NO! WHO IS THAT? NOBODY CAN STEAL BOB'S CUE! I don't like him (Hangman)."

(Hangman, on screen: Bradshaw! As I live and breathe!) *Slowly turns towards me with dead eyes*

"That's not enemies to lovers, that's just enemies."

"With just this scene, I can tell this guy (Hangman) comes and goes. 'Sometimes I flirt with you, sometimes I hate you.' He's like a tsudere."

"Oh, got it. Phoenix is adopted into the man's group. She's a bro."

"I wouldn't say that they're his support system, but those two are the people that know him the best. Hangman is paying attention because he wants to be the best and needs to defeat Rooster. Phoenix is demonstrating a more sibling like worry."

"Hondo is like Mavericks babysitter."

"Oh. Oh, now Mav's flirting with her."

(Following the 'Baby on Board' comment) "Don't talk shit about Bob! I don't like Hangman."

"Maverick is like a step father to Rooster. Not in the 'HAHA I FUCKED YOUR MOM' kind of way, but in the way that he helped raise him."

"Where is Iceman? I'm here for the two of them, I don't give a fuck about Aeronautics."

"I think Ice and Maverick had a long relationship, but they're not together anymore. They maintained a friendship, but their lives probably went in different directions. I'd say they were together for 10, maybe 20 years."

('I ain't worried' by OneRepublic starts playing) "This song is from 2022? OH MY GOD THE SCENE"

"DON'T PLAY AROUND WITH GRANDPA!"

*Started chanting "BOB! BOB! BOB!" When he got picked up*

*Eeriely quiet during the bird strike, until Maverick starts talking to Rooster* "OH THEY'RE NOT DEAD. THEY COULDN'T HAVE KILLED BOB! IF THEY KILLED BOB I WOULD STOP AND NEVER WATCH TOP GUN EVER AGAIN!"

"Definitely 20 years. Ice is probably the only person Mav actually loved. Like, not a fling?" "Yeah, probably." "He's been with lots of women, and men, but Iceman is the only person he was ever in love with– maybe still is."

"I think his (Ice's) wife knows. That's probably why she recognizes Mav and is kind of friends with him." "That's probably why she just let him go up to see Ice." "YEAH GO AHEAD, FUCK MY HUSBAND!"

"It's pretty easy to notice that Snowman– No, ICEman."

"That is the face of a man who just lost the love of his life."

"Damn, the mans a beast. If It was me I'd already have cried, alone, in a room absolutely destroyed, never to come out again."

"He's got nobody, dude! I just want his step child to come back, because If he doesn't that man's gonna kill himself!"

"Why does it always have to have a romantic ending. Just leave him with his adoptive son. Go away."

"They (Penny and Mav) aren't going to end up together."

"I have a theory! Fanboy is obsessed with women! Cus he's 'Fanboy'." "But wouldn't he be called Simp, then?" "Ah, then he's obsessed with men." "... simp can be for men too."

"There's gonna be a Top Gun Three? Who's it gonna be about? It ain't gonna be Maverick, that man has a foot in the grave already."

"Bob is my favorite in the second movie. I have no favorites in the first one because everybody is very macho and very gay, and that's boring."

#srry yall #she kind of destroyed Hangster and Brace #Brace? Or Roosnix? Idk the name of Rooster x Phoenix #also Icemav a little #though she just sprinkled the angst #top gun maverick #iceman x maverick #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tg86 #tg:m #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #top gun #top gun 1986 #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #robert bob floyd #natasha phoenix trace #bernie hondo coleman #penny benjamin #jake seresin #top gun hangman #phoenix trace #bob floyd #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy top gun #mickey garcia

[wade-winston-wilson]

#hangster #top gun #top gun: maverick #more hangster angst that feeds my soul #again idk what the source is for these quotes #it's another tik tok sound!!

[yeagrave]

talk to me…

for @tgm-all4one ‘it’s not the prompt. it’s the creator.’ challenge!

#tgm all4one #I have a hangster one too ofc #but I needed some roosmav comfort #mav being a good dad #my art #pete ‘maverick’ mitchell #tgm #pete mitchell #bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #fanart #angst #mavdad

[loveinwisteria]

Mamma Mia! Top Gun AU

Featuring :

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell as Donna

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin as Sophie

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky as Sam

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw as The Boyfriend ™

Donna and the Dynamos being ofc Maverick, Nick 'Goose' Bradshaw as Rosie, and Carole as Tanya.

Ron 'Slider' Kerner as Bill (and yes he Will be pursued by Both Nick and Carole because I said so)

And Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson as Harry (he finds his One True Love at the wedding aka Warlock)

#top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun #mamma mia au #i NEED THE ANGST #GIVE ME ICEMAV SINGING SOS #WINNER TAKES IT ALL #I NEED THEM REKINDLED AFTER GOD KNOWS HOW LONG FOR THEIR SON THAT ICE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IS HIS #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #ron slider kerner #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #icemav #hangster #sloosecar #they are GAY #i also need hangster for that beach scene

[whohasthecards]

Idea

After the mission, Jake apologizes to Mav and Bradley about bringing up the Goose incident, and explains that he was just trying to get Bradley to fly faster and better in a fucked up way. They both forgive him, and Bradley thinks maybe now they can both be good wingmen to each other.

However, that's not the case. Although Jake still hangs around the Dagger Squad and gets closer to them, he's hesitant around Bradley. Not enough for most people to notice, he's still a sarcastic asshole, but he's wary around Bradley and Bradley doesn't know why.

Jake is actually still hurt about the time at the Hard Deck when Bradley told him, "Hangman, the only place you'll lead anyone is an empty grave." Bradshaw brought up one of his greatest losses when he was just joking around. It hurt. He knew that the proper thing to do is talk about it, but instead he just keeps Bradshaw at a distance and watches him to make sure that the other man won't randomly lose his temper. He's only accepted in the Dagger Squad because he saved Rooster and Mav's lives, he won't fuck that up by accusing Rooster of being an ass about something that happened months ago. Rooster probably didn't even remember.

He was right, Rooster didn’t remember. Just that they were making jabs at each other.

Rooster is talking to Mav and Ice about Hangman being distant and Mav just tells him to give Hangman time to get used to having a team.

Ice starts hanging around the Top Gun base more, and eventually starts building rapport with the Dagger Squad. Especially Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin who seems to really look up at him. However, unlike others who do, Seresin can actually hold a conversation and doesn't just hang on his every word and treat him like some kind of god. Ice likes the kid.

(Ice thinks the Dagger Squad knows about his marriage with Mav and how he raised Bradley. Dagger Squad does not know.)

Eventually, Ice asks about his relationship with Rooster and Jake spills the whole thing about what Bradley said, and the lost of his former wingman. Ice is livid. He confronts Rooster about it, and tells Bradley to apologize and to better watch his temper.

When Bradley does, Jake asks how he knows about that stuff. Bradley said Ice did and how his uncle is always trying to make sure wingmen stick together.

Instead of being comforted about this, Jake feels betrayed. Betrayed that sometimes he told Ice in confidence was just out and about now and becomes upset about it and walks away. He feels stupid for not realizing that IceMav was a thing and that Bradley was their pseudo-son, and thinks that Ice just wanted to get close to him, so that Dagger Squad would stay together.

Jake starts distancing himself from Ice and starts withdrawing from the team.

Everything eventually gets straightened out with some intervention from Mav, Javy, and the rest of the Dagger Squad. Mav by telling Jake that Ice just likes to fix things, and accidentally oversteps. Javy by threatening Bradley to never ever say shit like that to Jake again. Ice then apologizes to Jake and tells him he just found Bradley's behavior unacceptable and didn't mean to overstep. Jake accepts the apology and they both start bonding again.

Bradley and Jake start becoming true wingmen not only in the air, but also on the ground.

Happy ending, Dagger Squad + IceMav all vibing together.

#fanfic #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #pete maverick mitchell #top gun #top gun fandom #mavdad #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #ice pops #icemav #can be read as platonic or romantic #hangster #but you can also read it as both of them are brotherly #drabble #headcannons #fic ideas #ideas #angst #hangman angst

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

The thought that has invaded my mind now is...

Hangman and Rooster both getting extremely angry at each other one night. Maybe it started because Rooster got drunk at the Hard Deck and started to pick a fight with Hangman, and Penny threw them both out.

Rooster angrily stumbles down the stairs to the beach, and Hangman follows him wanting to know just what the hell his problem is.

Rooster, seething, finally asks Hangman "...how come nothing ever effects you?! How can you just be like that...?!"

Hangman stares at him for a moment, absolutely stunned. "...I'm sorry what?"

"You're just a freaking...robot! You're like that robot from "The Wizard of Oz"!"

"...The Tin Man?" "YES, THE TIN MAN!" Rooster shouts, victoriously. "...With a cute little smile, and pretty eyes, and no heart whatsoever."

Hangman's face darkens. He's standing illuminated fully by the light of the lamp post near the foot of the stairs, yet somehow his face visibly darkens.

"...Who the fuck are you to talk about being heartless, Bradshaw?" he finally asks, his voice dangerously low but there was no mistaking the anger in his words.

"You can just...just stand there, or sit, or whatever stance you choose to take," Rooster began, his words slurring ever so slightly "...and just act like a total asshole."

"So what?"

"SO YOU ACT LIKE NONE OF IT EVER HAPPENED!" Rooster suddenly yelled. "Like I never mattered to you at all! How can you - how can you just do that...?"

"You broke up with me." "I know I - "

" - You broke up with me," Hangman repeated, as he stepped closer to him. "You proposed to me, told me you wanted to spend your life with me, then broke up with me and YOU'RE CALLING ME HEARTLESS?!"

"Jake - "

" - Do you have any idea what it takes for me to be in the same room with you?!" The blonde asked, his words starting to get thicker with emotion. "Do you honestly think I enjoyed being at the Hard Deck, that night before the Dagger mission started, after you waltzed in? I couldn't fucking breathe. You were taking up all the air the room! I left while you were playing that stupid piano and getting everybody in the bar wrapped around your little finger. Cuz that's what you like to do isn't it Rooster?! Get everybody looking at you...!"

"Well, that's the fucking pot calling the kettle black - "

" - You weren't even in uniform!" Hangman shouted. "Everybody else was, but no rules don't apply to you cuz you've got Admirals like Kazansky on your side, and Maverick was your daddy's bff, and you can do whatever you want - "

" - You're a dick."

"Yeah and you're a fucking Nepo Baby who can't stand it when you have to actually work for something," Hangman spat out. "If I'm the Tin Man, you're the fucking Cowardly Lion."

Rooster took a swing at him, but Hangman ducked and used his shoulder to knock Rooster right on his back on the sand.

Rooster just stared up at him, waiting to see what he would do next. But he wouldn't let him see defeat in his eyes, or shame.

...There did seem to be a glimmer of sadness in there, though.

"You want the truth, there it is," Hangman told him, his chest heaving as he stared down at Rooster, then he put his knee on the other man's chest and leaned in a bit closer.

Rooster grunted at the added pressure, but kept staring back at Hangman as the other man looked down at him.

"...You were a coward with me, you're a coward in the air, and you try to make up for it by singing live karaoke to a bunch of half-drunk aviators in a bar," Hangman continued. "You think I pretend like our relationship never happened, but you don't exactly bring it up in conversation, either. Your problem isn't me, Bradshaw, it's the guy in the fucking mirror."

Hangman took his knee off Rooster's chest, stood up and walked back up the stairs, without looking back at Rooster once.

Rooster turned his head to watch him leave, but he didn't get up from the sand just yet. He waited a moment, took a breath, let it out, and closed his eyes; trying to blink away the beginnings of tears that were starting to cloud his vision.

"...You can never just say 'I miss you' to people can you, Bradshaw?" he muttered to himself. "No, you have to be an asshole to everybody..."

Rooster then sat up and used his hands to brush the sand out of his hair. He then stood up, climbed the rickety wooden steps that led back up the hill...and went home alone.

#please don't ask I just needed to ramble and then I needed to finish it somehow cuz I didn't wanna toss it and voila #hangaroo #hangster #sereshaw #angst ficlet #whump #rooster bradshaw #hangman seresin #top gun maverick

[nanny-sc]

Bob needs advice for making Phoenix falls in love with him and what is better than asking to Jake- everybody-want-me-Seresin?

(Rooster said him to 'Be yourself and Nat would love you')

The opportunity present, one night, when he finds Hangman alone outside of The Hard Deck.

Jake listens him with straight face, in the end of Bob's speech he answers with a strict: I am the wrong person to ask advices.

Bob: Are you kidding me? When you are in a room a ton of people want you?!

Jake: No Bob, people don't want me... At most they want have sex with me, indeed nobody stay in the morning. Most of people leave after they know me.

Jake's look is on Rooster when he says the last sentence, Bob feels his heart broke for him

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #robert bob floyd #natasha phoenix trace #pheonix #bob x phoenix #angst #top gun maverick #hangster

[edelfan]

Jake nervously played with the line of his IV. He knew that any moment the nurses would come and take him down to surgery. It wasn't like he had never been in this situation before, but it definitely hit different when he was all on his own - and the outcome of this surgery would decide if he would be able to keep his job as a naval aviator or not.

Officially he was just on medical leave. He hadn't told anyone the truth, not his family, not Maverick or Cyclone, not the other Daggers and especially not Rooster…

They had started to hook up again after the Uranium Mission, the ghost of their previous relationship during their academy days still looming over them. However, if this turned out bad, if Jake had to be discharged for medical reasons, it would all be for nothing again. And Jake knew that he couldn't take another heartbreak like that.

A knock on the door brought Jake back to the here and now.

"Lieutenant Seresin? You ready?" 

"As ready as I'll ever be…"

~*~

Ice hated hospitals. For him it was a place for people on a pathway between life and death - so often it had been Pete in one of those beds, a long time ago Carol had taken her last breath in here and of course his own stints with cancer. 

This time it was just a regular check up, nothing should show up, but that didn't stop the uneasy feeling inside him. Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair in the hallway, Tom let his eyes wander - until they landed on a patient that was rolled towards the elevators further down. And the patient was more than familiar.

Before he could call out though, they disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. Frowning, Ice pulled out his phone, calling the number he had had on speed dial for years.

"Hey, babe, finished already?"

Tom could hear Bradley's laughter in the background and his heart twisted in a painful way.

"No, still waiting for the results, Mav. But did you know that Hangman was just brought into surgery?"

And with this it's goodbye from me for the foreseeable future. I have major surgery on my right arm next Tuesday and I have no idea when I'll be able to type comfortably again...

#jake hangman seresin #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangster #icemav #top gun maverick #top gun angst #top gun drabble #personal

[cowboysandpilots]

For sending a sentence and I'll write a fic; I picked a part of lyrics from one of Hangster songs :3💗

Days, they can feel so long

I've been hanging on to a sad love song

Nights, never came to dawn

They went on and on

When you blocked me out

And before I knew it

I became all about you.

(Sorry if it's too long!🙈)

(This was so fun and heart-wrenching. Lol thank you ❤️ I hope you like it.)

✨send me a sentence, and I'll write a fic✨

Bradley doesn't quite know when it happened, but he finds himself more and more drawn toward Hangman. There's history there, not a good one. It's filled with rivalry and a few hazy memories of some drunken, anger-filled orgasms. It's filled with screaming matches and thrown punches. They're not good for each other, so why can't Bradley let him go?

Everything ended as quickly as it had started. One minute, they're stationed in Afghanistan and accidentally admitting feelings in the hazy aftermath of pleasure and the next, Hangman is getting re-stationed with a new squad and picking a fight with Bradley before he leaves.

Jake assures himself that he had a good reason for being the asshole; for pushing Bradley away. He knew it would be easier to make the man hate him now rather than down the line if things got serious. More serious than an accidental admission that he knows Bradley can't possibly mean. He was doing the right thing; he was toxic, and someone as amazing as Bradley deserves better. He thought he was in the clear until he was called back to top gun, and of course, who was there but Bradley. It's much harder to deny feelings when you have to see the person every day.

Bradley can admit to no one but himself that he was... is struggling to cope without Jake. He was so angry when the younger man left and even angrier when Jake seemed to have no idea why that chip he's always talking about was on Bradley's shoulder in the first place. Without Jake, Bradley felt numb. He felt stuck. He couldn't eat, and he couldn't fall asleep, too afraid of the memories that would bleed into his dreams. His rage was on the surface, the quickest emotion to appear because somewhere between Jake leaving and showing up again, Bradley forgot how to cry. Every single muscle seemed to be weighed down by the grief of mourning someone who was standing right in front of him.

Everything's fine.

Maybe in another life, they could love each other again. Until then, Bradley will drown in the memories.

——

A/N- Hi, I'm so happy you're here. :) If you would like to support me and my writing, please remember to hit the reblog button, as Tumblr has no algorithm and likes (while appreciated) do nothing to get creators work seen. If you would like to support me further, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi. If you're curious about where your support would go, I'm currently at $80/$200 for my monthly groceries, so any support would go towards that. :)

#asked and answered #hangster #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangster fanfiction #sereshaw #hangman x rooster #hangster angst #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangster fic #hangster ficlet #tgm fanfic #tgm #my writing

[icemanontop]

i absolutely live for icemav/hangster angst but i don’t think my heart can take it anymore

#top gun maverick #angst is not for the weak #lets be real #hangster #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #jake hangman seresin #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #sereshaw #angst

[lovemadethemdoit]

guess who started writing a new top gun fic *finger guns*

#it's got icemav parents angst and VERY possible hangster #oh no #writing #hangster #icemav #ALSO i need to find this jimmy fallon episode

[blurredcolour]

The Witch of November

Summary: Jake and Bradley’s second deployment has you discovering a lot of things about yourself, including just how much the two men mean to you. Or When The Three Of You Realized What You Were.

Part of my Poly Hangster Universe. Read Part One - In Search Of Obliteration

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Jake “Seresin” Hangman x Female Reader [Hangster x Female Reader Polyamorous Relationship]

Warning: Angst, Mental Health Struggles, Nightmares, Lack of Appetite, Insomnia, Nail Biting, Stress-Induced Weight Loss, Anxiety, Unhealthy Coping Strategies, Difficult Discussions of Feelings, Rating – T.

Credit: Paramount Pictures

Word Count: 5120

The oldies playlist filled the quiet emptiness of the primary bedroom as you worked on folding the last of Bradley’s shirts into the storage tote. It was a poor replacement for the usual sounds of life that filled Jake and Bradley’s home, conversation, laughter, activity, but the songs from the 60s and 70s brought a continuity in their absence.

You smiled softly as you pulled another of his father’s tropical button-up shirts from the drawer, taking extra care as you folded the sleeves down the back, barely registering the song change to Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed When the gales of November came early

It was difficult to fathom the next four months without them. They’d had two weeks’ notice – fourteen days to prepare you for the face that they were being deployed for sixteen weeks at sea. It was not their first deployment since your meeting at the liquor store. Not long after that dream-like night you had spent with them, followed by the sun-drenched afternoon spent with their squad in the sundress they had ordered via Postmates, their colleagues too polite to pry at their flimsy introduction of you as a ‘new neighbour’, they had left for ten days.

At the time you’d had no more than a superficial understanding of their profession. Of the peril in which they put themselves on a daily basis – even more so during missions. A few emails had been exchanged between the three of you then but before you even really had a chance to miss them, they had shown up with your apartment bearing take out. The outcome had been four orgasms and a noise complaint.

The ship was the pride of the American side Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most With a crew and good captain well seasoned

This time, however, everything was different. Nearly six-months into your relationship – well, for starters you felt confident calling it that. Perhaps the three of you could have done a better job defining things, but they had given you a key to their house, and you had a toothbrush that lived in the cup with theirs in the ensuite bathroom. Spending most weekends, and the occasional weeknight there, you had successfully avoided another noise complaint and fallen into a very natural rhythm with them.

So, when their orders had arrived, it had been a rather rude awakening. An intrusion in the happy idyll your trio had built, but not altogether unexpected. You’d done a remarkable job convincing Jake, Bradley, and even yourself that you would be all right; that they had no reason to worry about you. And when they decided to once again use a property management company and put their home up for short term rental in their absence? You’d also convinced them to save some money and let you take that on for them.

After all, you had a key and the time, it would be no issue for you to finish packing their things away into the garage and then stop in to clean between rentals. Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms When they left fully loaded for Cleveland And later that night when the ship's bell rang Could it be the north wind they'd been feeling The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound And a wave broke over the railing And every man knew, as the captain did too ‘Twas the witch of November come stealing

You snapped the lid shut on the tote, grabbing your phone and tucking it into your pocket, letting the song continue to play as you carried the last load down the stairs and into the garage. Sliding the box into place, your eyes scanned over the stacks of totes and racks of garment bags – two lives tidily packed away, on hold.

The words of the song, now slightly muffled by the fabric of your pants yet still audible, began to register in your brain and you pulled your phone from your pocket to hear them better. Unbidden, the images sung by the folk singer of a horrific storm began to flood your mind. A helpless ship filled with mortal men dwarfed by the fury of nature.

Two men, who meant a great deal more to you than you had the nerve to put into words as they wolfed down their breakfast that morning, in a vast ocean. How easily they could not return – swept aside by a cruel wave, attacked by a wrathful nation, or eliminated by something so utterly mundane as human error. How easily you could be putting their things away for the very last time.

The unwelcome thoughts tore through your consciousness and had you stumbling back into the door frame that connected the garage to the rest of the house, gasping for breath as tears blurred your vision. The sheer cruelty of your mind, parading the worst possible outcomes through your brain in vivid detail, had you pressing a hand to the centre of your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. You felt sick and acutely alone in a house that was suddenly much too spacious, listening to a song that was far too gloomy.

“Good god, get a grip girl.” You snarled tearfully at yourself before barking a laugh that even you would have to admit rang hollow against the concrete floor.

Shaking your head viciously to clear the morbid thoughts of peril at sea from your head, as though it were an etch-a-sketch needing to be reset, you turned your rush of desperate energy toward skipping the last of the song. Inhaling deeply through your nose as the much more upbeat Surfin�� USA by the Beach Boys took over.

“Better…It’s just day one…. You’ve got this…” You wiped at a few rogue tears that had stolen down your cheeks before doing one last check that everything was stored properly, locking up the garage and heading back into the house to finish cleaning.

One hour – and many deliberate song choices – later, you finished mopping your way out of the house, turning off the lights as you went. Setting up a door code for the guests set the arrive the next day, you headed home near ten, finding it surprisingly easily to fall asleep. The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait When the gales of November came slashing When afternoon came it was freezing rain In the face of a hurricane west wind When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck saying “Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya” At seven PM a main hatchway caved in, he said “Fellas, it's been good to know ya”

The problem reared its head once more in the inky blackness of the night, rain and saltwater lashing your face, stinging your eyes. You could hear Jake and Bradley screaming for you, their voices carried on the wind from opposite directions, impossible to pinpoint no matter how you twisted your body this way and that.

Something unseen collided forcefully with your body, plunging you into a dark, icy sea. You clawed futilely through the water, unable to discern up from down, left from right, as your lungs began to burn with the need for breath.

You thrashed yourself awake from your nightmare, fumbling with the switch on your bedside lamp, desperate for light to dispel the murk of the freezing water, movements still filled with the frenetic energy of a drowning victim. At last, the incandescent bulb clicked on, flooding the room with warm light, reminding you that you were in your bed…. safe….

But Jake and Bradley…. heaven only knew where they were. You hugged your knees to your chest and choked out a sob, feeling just as useless as you had in your dream. They could be screaming your name right now and there was absolutely nothing you could do to help them. In your weakened state, you were utterly defenseless against the onslaught of tears, so you simply turned your head to smother your ragged sobs into the plush of your pillow – not wanting to risk a noise complaint over this of all things.

The captain wired in he had water coming in And the good ship and crew was in peril And later that night when his lights went out of sight Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Terror and theoretical grief and something that you still stubbornly refused to name despite all evidence to its confirmation wrung every last tear from your body until your eyelids were swollen and heavy with irritation. Pulling your exhausted frame from the tangle of sheets and sodden pillows, you trudged to the bathroom to rinse your face, wincing at the person staring back at you in the mirror.

You had done such a good job of convincing Jake and Bradley, of convincing yourself, that you would be all right in their absence, that this sudden burden of anxiety and gut-wrenching fear felt like a betrayal to your own self. You were an adult. You understood what it meant to date a Navy man. Yet here you were, crying your eyes out about things you had absolutely no control over. Over things you were proud of your boys for doing.

So whatever selfish childishness had suddenly possessed you, it had to be quashed with brutal efficiency. It would be wildly unfair for either of them to even sense that you were struggling and the simplest solution to that was you just had to stop it right now. Despite the ruthless glare you were delivering yourself in the glass of the bathroom mirror, however, that traitorous body of yours had somehow found the wherewithal to produce fresh tears to send rolling down your hot cheeks.

“Fuck…” you croaked, sinking your face into your hands.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes When the waves turn the minutes to hours

Three weeks, two days, and five hours. Despite sending them an email every day, you did not hear from Jake or Bradley for three weeks, two days, and five hours after they left you at their house that morning. It was more than enough time for your nightmare to bloom into full grown neurosis.

Stern pep-talks in the mirror were a non-starter, so you began addressing the inevitable sleep issues with melatonin gummies. And when those produced nearly every side-effect on the bottle? Over-the-counter pain killers. The terror still managed to find you, however, even in your chemically enhanced sleep, and a set of dark circles took root beneath your eyes. Your make-up kit expanded, and your routine became longer to hide them.

You threw yourself into your job, desperately trying to fill every waking moment with activity, treading water above the yawning darkness of dread that lay just below the surface. Between overtime hours and managing Jake and Bradley’s house as a rental – cleaning between renters and being on call for any issues that may pop up – you had little time for socializing. Which suited you just fine, because you knew those who cared about you would see through your thinly veiled disguise of make-up and busyness and you were most certainly not ready for a real conversation about what was going on.

You were idly nipping at a hangnail on your index finger as you reviewed a client’s file when your phone buzzed with an email notification and you gasped audibly when their names popped up, making your co-worker shoot you an inquisitive glance.

“Sorry…” You whispered with a wince, scooping the phone off your desk and diving into your email app to read through their joint reply four times before finally exhaling in relief.

They were well. They were tired, but they were alive and missed you and appreciated your emails. You hugged your phone to your chest, not caring how dramatic it might look to your already suspicious colleague, a few tears of joy gathering along your lower lashes.

The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her They might have split up or they might have capsized They may have broke deep and took water

The relief that one email brought was short-lived, affording one, maybe two good nights of sleep before you were plunged back into your cycle of agony. Your stomach grew averse to, and disinterested in, all food save your favourite ice cream, and after throwing out your fourth meal-prepped lunch you surrendered to its demands and proceeded to subsist entirely upon cartons of that.

You lost weight. Everyone seemed eager to tell you how good you looked as a result of it, which only seemed to twist the knife that had taken up residence between your ribs a little tighter. The circles beneath your eyes grew darker and your make-up kit expanded yet again. With all that you were juggling, you somehow failed to notice that you had chewed your nails raw – a self-soothing technique thoroughly acknowledged by the scientific community, but an action you remained blind to.

There were more email replies, with the promise of some possible phone connectivity in the coming weeks, but you were entirely immune to joy now…feeling not unlike a hollowed-out shell of yourself, filled with the black and white static of a television station that lost its signal.

And all that remains is the faces and the names Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

You were fighting with the first corner of the fitted sheet on the primary bed, the bed the three of you usually shared, when your phone started ringing with an unknown number. Releasing the stubborn fabric, you let the elastic spring back into place, mattress frustratingly bare as you picked up.

“Hello?” You answered, expecting it to be the couple slated to arrive tomorrow afternoon.

“Pretty girl, holy shit it’s so good to hear your voice.” Rooster’s rasped statement hit you like a physical blow to the chest, and you stumbled to a seat on the bed.

“Bradley?” Your voice waivered pathetically and you cleared your throat painfully. “Hey! Hey, it’s so lovely to hear yours.” You continued in a much sunnier, confident tone, scouring the tears from your eyes roughly with the heel of your palm.

He sighed your name warmly, but you did not miss the exhaustion that coloured his tone.

“Fuck, I am so sorry it’s taken this long to be able to call, I swear to god I’ve never been on communications blackout this long before. Everything ok?”

“Just great, well…I miss you both so much, but the rentals are running smoothly and work’s going fine, and the weather never changes here so I don’t have any complaints.” You were sure to smile, just like they taught you at work, so the happy tone would carry through the phone line. “You guys doing all right?”

“We are, you perfect woman, we are. Jake’s right here, falling asleep against the wall. Let me pass him the phone.”

There was some muffled scrambling against the receiver before Jake drawled your name, sounding even more exhausted than Bradley.

“Hey Jake, how’re you doing? You showing them all who’s the best?” You forced a grin, hoping to give him extra encouragement by stroking his ego.

“You know it, pretty girl. Me ‘n Rooster here are kicking all their asses…You promise to be extra desperate for us when we get home?”

You mustered a giggle for him, extremely thankful it was only a phone call so you could keep your expressions to yourself.

“You know it, Hungman…”

“Jesus Christ, I miss you…”

“Three weeks, Jake…” Not that you were counting, or anything.

“I can barely keep my eyes open pretty girl, I’m so sorry, I can’t wait to see you.”

“It’s ok Jake, please go get some rest, ok? I’ll see you soon.”

He murmured his goodbyes before Rooster came back on the line.

“Hey pretty girl, I’m not much longer for this world either.”

“I really appreciate you two taking the time to call me. I’ll see you both in three weeks.”

“Three weeks…” He sighed heavily. “I’ll try and email you our docking time and text you when we’re in the car ok?”

You had offered, initially, to drive them. To drop them off and pick them up, but the process for obtaining a pass was a lengthy one and though, none of you admitted it out loud, would have involved defining your relationship on paper. And so, they had departed in Jake’s pick-up truck, which was still waiting for them on base.

“Do what you can, have a good sleep, Bradley.”

“Night, pretty girl.”

You both stayed on the line a moment, listening to one another breathe, before he finally disconnected the call and you dissolved into tears as you sank onto the rug beside the bed.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings In the rooms of her ice water mansion Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams The islands and bays are for sportsmen

With the final rental checked out, you had a week to put their house back together before Jake and Bradley returned home. You had been careful to write down where things had come from so that you could return them to their rightful place. You took to sleeping at their home so that when the inevitable nightmares or overthinking arrived, three am companions you had grown so very accustomed to over the past four months, you could simply roll out of bed and continue unpacking for them.

True to his word, Bradley managed to email you, letting you know they would be returning that Sunday morning. By Saturday noon, the house was in order, and you made a trip to the grocery store to stock their fridge so they could take it easy their first few days back. You made a special trip to their favourite bakery for some treats, as well, and when you ran out of things to do you went out and walked the beach. Your body was a sharp contrast of fatigue and nervous energy, everything inside you was screaming out for rest but your mind would simply not allow it to.

Your melatonin gummies only afforded you three hours of sleep that night, leaving you pacing about the house like a zombie until the last of it cleared your system. You showered and put on your makeup, carefully ensuring the dark circles were covered. You put on one of their favourite dresses, hoping they wouldn’t notice that it was a little looser on you than before. Or perhaps, like everyone else, they would applaud your new figure.

Setting up the coffee, you held-off starting the brew cycle, waiting for the text to arrive from Bradley that they were on their way home from the base, wanting it to be as fresh as possible. You nearly jumped out of your skin as your phone vibrated with the notification, sliding off your seat at the island and pressing start button before doing one last circuit of the house, unable to sit down.

You were just setting out their favourite mugs on the stone countertop when you heard the engine of Jake’s truck pull into the driveway, rushing to open the front door. Bradley was halfway up the walk when you yanked it open, covering the last of the distance in two long strides before bending his knees to hoist you up into a bone-crushing hug. You squealed as in his excitement, or perhaps his misjudgement of your weight, you shot up higher than expected. Jake laughing brightly as he jogged over, wrapping his arms around both of you tightly as Bradley set your feet back on the concrete walkway.

Nestling your face between their bodies, you inhaled deeply, fingers curling into the fabric of their clothing as you savoured the fact that they were present, they were real, they were alive. Jake shifted back and hooked a finger beneath your chin, coaxing your face up. You smiled at him tremulously, blinking back tears as he leaned in to press his lips to yours firmly. Sighing deeply into the kiss, your fingers sought Bradley’s curls, sinking your fingers into his hair affectionately as he patiently waited his turn, his hands running along your sides, massaging your hip, your butt.

Gasping against Jake’s lips as Rooster’s hand gave a particularly greedy squeeze, you pulled back to press your lips to his, a shiver rolling through your entire body at the feel of his facial hair against your upper lip.

“You wore our favourite dress, pretty girl…” You heard Jake murmur against your shoulder, his fingers toying with the hem. “Mmmm we should get you inside before the neighbours get jealous.”

Reluctantly, you allowed them to pull back and gather their things from the truck, leading them inside.

“That coffee smells amazing…” Jake sighed, setting his bag down at the foot of the stairs.

“Let me grab you a cup.” You nodded and quickly moved into the kitchen, filling Jake’s mug and setting it down to reach for Bradley’s.

In your haste to be of service to them, you had misjudged the edge of the counter, the coffee cup wobbling precipitously before tumbling over to smash on the tile, splashing hot liquid and broken ceramic in all directions.

“Fuck!” The curse flew from your lips, and you quickly set the coffee pot back onto the element before bending down to pick up the sharp shards with your bare hands, thoroughly irritated with the mess you had made of the freshly cleaned floor. Not to mention the fact that you had just destroyed Jake’s favourite mug. “Shit, shit, shit…” You hissed, collecting pieces of crockery in your palm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to hold back your tears.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you back against a strong, broad chest.

“Careful pretty girl, you’re going to hurt yourself…” Bradley’s gravelly voice filled your ears, and you opened your mouth to protest that you were just fine when an ugly sob tore from your throat.

You slapped your free hand over your mouth, mortified, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stop any more of those from escaping. You felt Bradley tense behind you and saw one half of the look he shared with Jake reflected on the blonde’s face through the stubborn stream of tears in your eyes.

“Ok pretty girl, it’s ok, just a mug all right?” He drawled, carefully taking the broken shards from your hand and setting them on the counter.

“Why don’t you go upstairs with Jake while I take care of this, and we’ll have coffee in bed hmmm?” Rooster soothed and you managed a nod, not really meeting Jake’s eyes, but you could see the furrow of concern on his brow as he pulled you close, tucking you against his side. He led you up the stairs, hand on the small of your back, and into the ensuite bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up hmmm?”

You sniffled and blinked at his words, glancing at the mirror and wincing at the state of your makeup. You grabbed your toiletries bag, opening it up to find your remover wipes, but before you had a chance to get started, he had set you on the counter between the double sinks, your back pressed against the mirror. One broad hand came to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing warm, soothing circles on your skin as he pulled out the bottle of melatonin first. Then the painkillers. Followed by the eye drops to help with your dry eyes from the constant crying. These items he lined up on the counter one at a time, his face unreadable. And farther below Lake Ontario Takes in what Lake Erie can send her And the iron boats go as the mariners all know With the gales of November remembered

At last Jake produced the make-up removing wipes and turned to you with a gentle, patient expression as he carefully removed the layers of makeup you had become accustomed to painting on every morning to hide the ravages of the nighttime hours on your face. By the time he had cleaned it all off, your eyelids fluttered open to see Bradley leaning in the doorway quietly watching you.

You had spent more time unclothed with the pair of them than anyone in your life and yet you had never felt so naked in their presence before. You tried to avoid their eyes, to focus on your hands in your lap, but Jake caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, raising your gaze once more to meet his. There was unconcealed concern there, now, and you watched his adam’s apple bob with a pronounced swallow.

“What’s going on, pretty girl…” He tacked your name onto the end of his question, adding a level of seriousness to the moment that had you squirming slightly and Bradley walking over to lean against the countertop beside you.

It was your turn to swallow painfully, groping for words to express just what the hell was going on, before you let out a huff.

“I’m ruining it…” You slumped back against the mirror in defeat, earning a raised eyebrow from each man. “You’re finally home for the first time in months and I’m ruining it…god I have no idea what I’m doing…” You scrubbed a hand down your tired face, dark circles beneath your eyes laid bare by Jake’s handiwork, and began to gnaw on your thumbnail thoughtfully.

There was another look shared between the pair of them, but this time you could see the concern shared in their gazes. There was an element of knowing something held in that look. Something they weren’t saying aloud. It irked you, made you even more annoyed with yourself for being so broken that you couldn’t even welcome them home properly.

“I’m supposed to be having amazing reunion sex with you both right now to make up for the fact that you’ve been gone, and I can’t stop crying…” you wiped at your face angrily before Jake caught your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently.

“You think we would ignore the fact that you’re not ok just because we want you, pretty girl?” He gently kissed away a fresh tear as it stole down your cheek.

Your eyes flitted over towards Bradley as he brushed away another tear on your opposite cheek with the backs of his fingers, treating you with more kindness than you had shown yourself in weeks.

“Please…what’s going on…” He rasped, voice roughened further by emotion, his brow furrowed.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral The church bell chimed ‘til it rang twenty-nine times For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald

You glanced between the pair of them, filled with trepidation, but quite honestly holding back these words had not served you in the least, so perhaps releasing them might at the very least provide some relief.

“My dumb ass has gone and fallen in love with two men with one of the most dangerous jobs in the world and I have no idea what I’m doing…” You exhaled in surrender, eyeing their faces intently to see how they might react as a hurricane of butterflies erupted in your stomach.

There was silence for a moment, and your worried that you had been too cryptic or too forward, until a flicker of hope dawned as smiles began to tug at their lips. You gasped as they both leaned forward at the same time, aiming for the opposite corners of your lips. It was awkward and claustrophobic and yet it felt so incredibly right to share a kiss between the three of you simultaneously. Sliding your arms around their necks, you held them close as they clung to you so tightly you felt as though they might have a decent chance of fusing your broken pieces back together.

“I love you, too.” Bradley whispered against your cheek, making you shiver in delight as Jake murmured your name adoringly.

“Love you both.” He grinned, not to be outdone.

“I’m really…sorry that I’m such a mess, please don’t…blame yourselves I…”

Bradley shook his head firmly.

“But we are to blame. At the very least, partially. We left you alone for the first time by yourself with nothing…pretty girl, will you ever forgive us?”

“Of course I forgive you!” You said quickly, kissing him firmly and wiping at a few of his tears that had slipped from the corners of his eyes.

“You were far too convincing, I promise to be a lot more skeptical in the future.” Jake teased but shook his head, assuming a more serious expression. “You’re our partner and we’re going to do a much better job of this going forward, ok?”

You gave him a watery smile and hauled him in for a firm kiss of agreement. They ushered you into your pajamas and the three of you curled up in bed, Bradley and Jake enjoying their coffee and baked goods with you sandwiched tightly between them as they regaled you with stories of their travels. Warm, safe, and contented, you found your eyelids drooping heavily. Jake’s hand rubbing soothing circles on your back and Bradley’s fingers tracing the features of your face were not making it any easier to stay awake.

“Sleep…” One or both of them whispered, and you made a soft noise of protest but were otherwise helpless against the rising tide of exhaustion.

You awoke to a bedroom painted in the hues of sunset, snuggled tightly into Bradley’s chest, the scent of pizza filling the air.

“That smells good…” You sighed drowsily.

“You hungry, pretty girl?” Jake drawled, the bed dipping and jostling as he walked closer on his knees, carrying pizza boxes over as you slowly sat up, nodding as a jaw-cracking yawn took over your body. “Good, let’s get some meat back on your bones.” The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee Superior, they said, never gives up her dead When the gales of November come early

With The Three of Us Masterlist

#hangster x reader #top gun angst #reader x rooster x hangman #hangman x reader #rooster x reader #hangman x rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction

[hangster-hangout]

Jake has a cold and is laying on the couch binge watching first responder soap operas when Bradley gets home from work.

“That could be us.” He points to the tv, his speech a little slurred from the cough medicine.

“What could be us sweetheart?” Bradley takes off his shoes and presses a kiss to Jake’s forehead. Only his head is visible from the mounds of blankets on the couch.

“These two. Hot cop falls for a hot firefighter.” Bradley sits down on the couch and lets Jake rest on his lap.

“Who is who?” Bradley smiles, running his hand through Jake’s hair.

“I’ma cop. You’re the firefighter.” Jake yawns and his eyes start to close. “Rivals. We fall in love anyway.” Bradley presses another kiss on Jake’s head.

“Sounds about right.”

#okay this is to balance the sick angst i wrote before and i just adore it #hangster headcannons #my hangster fic #hangster Drabble #hangster #they are watching 911 lone star btw #kind of want to write cop!jake firefighter!bradley #add to the list